The Lights of Home
by Tolakasa
Summary: Preseries, AU. The child Bela has to leave the only home she's ever known. Spoilers through 3x06.


**Note:** This was sparked by two things: The way Bobby spat Bela's name when she was first introduced, which just reeked of capital-h History, and Bela's sighting of the ghost ship in "Red Sky at Morning" and refusal to go into details.

* * *

**The Lights of Home**

Bela eased down the stairs, carefully avoiding the creaky steps, faithful Vlad clutched tight. She peered through the railing to see if Uncle Bobby was awake, but he was slumped in his favorite chair, the TV on some old black-and-white show with the sound turned down low. There was a big glass of something clear and light brown on the table next to the chair, the stuff from the bottles in the cabinets she wasn't allowed to open. The stuff he hadn't been drinking until Aunt Sandra died.

Now he drank it every night, and usually fell asleep down here rather than upstairs in his bed.

She didn't always make it farther than this. Some nights she just sat here with Vlad, watching, wondering what Uncle Bobby was going to do now that Aunt Sandra was gone. And some nights she walked all the way into the den and climbed into his lap and stayed there until she fell asleep again, and neither of them ever said a word.

But tonight...

The floor was cold against her feet as she crossed the den. The house had been cold ever since Aunt Sandra died. No matter how Uncle Bobby swore at the thermostat or built up the fire in the woodstove, it never seemed to get warm. It wasn't a ghost. It couldn't be. Aunt Sandra had been cremated and one of Uncle Bobby's friends had made sure there was salt in the casket for her bones.

She climbed into his lap. He gave her and Vlad a big hug, and didn't let go. "Don't make me leave, Uncle Bobby."

"I'd never _make_ you leave," he said, and his voice sounded funny. Maybe he'd been crying again. He'd been doing a lot of that, when he thought she wasn't looking. She'd been doing a lot when he wasn't looking. It was like they'd agreed neither one could see the other.

"Then why can't I stay?"

"It's the law. Ain't right, but that's the way it is. I'm not blood kin, and with your aunt gone, I got no right to keep you." He muttered something that sounded like _stupid social workers_. "Just remember, baby girl. No matter where your daddy sends you, you can always come back. You'll always have a place with me."

"But he doesn't want me!" The words came out in a babyish wail, not at all the way she wanted them. She wanted to be strong and powerful, like Aunt Sandra always was. "You do!"

"And don't you ever forget it." That growl, the same one he used on the rough guys that sometimes came to the lot looking for parts, made her feel a little better. Protected, maybe. Aunt Sandra always smiled when she heard it. "But he mighta changed his mind."

She shook her head, and made Vlad shake his. The loose button that was his bad eye danced all over the place. "He threw me away when Mama died!"

"Baby girl—" He stopped. "People do funny things when they lose somebody they love. And he _did_ love your mama."

"Just not me."

"He loved you enough to make sure you had a home, didn't he? He let you come here and live with us."

She had to stop and think on that. Neither Aunt Sandra or Uncle Bobby let her get away with not thinking things over. That was a Rule.

Mama died when she was born, and Daddy sent her here. She knew it was more complicated than that—something to do with her grandma, but she didn't understand any of it. All she knew was that Aunt Sandra had brought her home from the hospital, like Bela was her own baby. Daddy sent money to Aunt Sandra for her, and sent presents at birthdays and Christmas, but she'd never even talked to him; she knew his name was Randall Talbot, but when she'd tried to call him that, she hadn't gotten dessert for a week.

She didn't know why they were so insistent. It didn't seem fair to her that they did all the same work as other mommies and daddies and didn't get credit for it. Especially now that this man she'd never met suddenly had control of her life again, when she _should_ be staying here with Uncle Bobby. "Maybe," she finally said. "But how do you know he just didn't want to get rid of me?"

Uncle Bobby made that choking noise he always did when he was trying not to laugh, and covered it up with a drink from the glass. "I think you just reminded him of your mama, and it hurt too much, honey. And then when he saw how good you were doing out here with me and your aunt, and he didn't want to make things worse." He gave her a reassuring squeeze. "Maybe it won't be all bad. Your grandma's got enough money to send you to a really good school, maybe even over in Europe. You'll learn a lot of stuff you can't in a little town like this."

"There's nothing wrong with school here," she said, very bravely. She'd put up with all those stupid kids who made fun of her if she got to stay.

"Don't knock a good education, Bela."

"But who's gonna take care of you?"

"I took care of myself a long time before your aunt came along, baby girl. I'll manage."

She gave him a worried look. "Do you want Vlad?"

He chuckled. "I'll be okay with Jim and Jack."

"Who're they?"

"You'll learn. After you're twenty-one."

"That's a long time."

"Sure is," he agreed. She knew from experience that that was all he would say on that matter. When Uncle Bobby and Aunt Sandra said she was too young for something, they always told her when she would be old enough, and they wouldn't say a word until then.

She thought of the suitcases packed upstairs, everything she owned stuffed into a trunk and four bags, and the plane ticket in the mail sorter. Just one. Daddy wouldn't pay for Uncle Bobby to fly east with her, and he couldn't afford to leave, there was too much to do to—to settle Aunt Sandra's estate, that's what he'd called it. The letter that had come with the ticket had said New York was just a stop, that they'd put her with some tutors to get her ready to go to school, like she hadn't been going to school here. It must be some kind of special school, or why would Daddy have insisted she bring _everything_ to New York?

Was it going to be one of those schools where you lived in dorms? Would they let her keep Vlad? What about the salt? How was she supposed to keep up salt lines in a dorm full of stupid normal girls? She couldn't even talk demons to the girls in school _now_, and they thought she was white trash because Uncle Bobby ran a salvage yard and Aunt Sandra didn't go to church.

"Uncle Bobby?" she asked, just to see if he was still awake.

"Yeah, baby girl."

"Are you mad at me?" Her voice sounded tiny. "Because of—of Aunt Sandra?"

He was quiet for a long time. "That wasn't your fault."

"But—I—" She clutched Vlad tighter and looked up at him, searching. "It was my fault, Uncle Bobby, I touched the crystal, I set it loose—"

"You didn't know what it was."

"But—"

"_Bela_." That was his angry-tired voice, the one that meant there wasn't going to be any arguing, except maybe from Aunt Sandra. "You didn't kill your aunt. That demon did. And I don't want to hear you say different _ever_ again."

"Yes, sir," she said obediently.

"And you'll come back," he said, but she wasn't sure he was talking to her. "You won't have to go to school forever."

"Can I come back and be a demon hunter like you?"

He laughed. "If you don't find something you like better, baby girl. Just remember—"

"If anybody asks, you sell used cars and salvaged parts and demons aren't real," she answered promptly.

"That's my girl," he said. "Now, let's get you and Vlad back to bed. You've got a long day tomorrow." She slid to the floor so he could stand, and he picked her up with a soft "oof," but he didn't give her his usual _you're gettin' too big for this, baby girl_. He carried her and Vlad upstairs to her room, and put in bed and tucked her in her favorite way, stuffing the blankets around her and Vlad so tightly that she couldn't move. "Sleep well, baby girl," he told her, and kissed her on the forehead.

"I will," she promised, but when he left the room, turning off everything but the Smurfette nightlight, she curled around Vlad and cried as silently as she could and never slept.

**_the end_**


End file.
